Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Iceland and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Wally Richardson to the grime kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by B.T. Express. All the underground hits.
All The Leaves tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fad Gadget record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a June Days record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Electric Prunes,
Livin' Joy,
John Cale,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Soul Sonic Force,
Maurizio,
the Swans,
Saccharine Trust,
Mary Jane Girls,
Youth Brigade,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Selecter,
The Monks,
Gastr Del Sol,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Siglo XX,
Deadbeat,
Kerrie Biddell,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Jacob Miller,
Slick Rick,
Newcleus,
Anthony Braxton,
Soft Machine,
Bluetip,
Pantytec,
Magazine,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Public Image Ltd.,
Crispy Ambulance,
Reagan Youth,
World's Most,
Skriet,
The Neon Judgement,
Eric B and Rakim,
Dead Boys,
The Dave Clark Five,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Curtis Mayfield,
Grauzone,
Brand Nubian,
Roy Ayers,
Man Parrish,
Zero Boys,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Nik Kershaw,
Tropical Tobacco,
Eric Dolphy,
The Sonics,
Chrome,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Steve Hackett,
Circle Jerks,
Yaz,
48th St. Collective,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Barbara Tucker,
China Crisis, China Crisis, China Crisis, China Crisis.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.